If social networks embody the trace of the current object, is the current disenchantment the disenchantment of social networks?

An iconographic landscape as an ex-classmate meet-up in present continuous. What do I tell those I don’t know? What do I share? What for?

Does the recycling of enchantment go through the need to not leave a trace or to leave some other trace even if it’s not that of our own shoes?

Between immediacy and vertigo, weariness and redundancy, do social networks perhaps fill a crack of identities claiming to be, to be something, even if it’s just an ephemeris worryingly less empty? Is the scandalous lack of memory and past an escape towards the future? What future? That of the events some software reminds us of each time we log in, without criteria or hierarchies, in this club of friends without ID or DNA?

Our craving for the smile and despair for massage, are they a dollar-store therapy, a fellinian illusion that insists in claiming on the megaphone: yes, you can also play the leading role?Can our demands be claimed with the “I like” policy? To what extent what’s validated is valid?The democratizing illusion of the power of the mouse, is it a mouthwatering dish on the jaws of the ubiquitous marketing engineers?

What’s behind, on, within the narcissist exercise to publish, publish whatever? Are the means an alternative?

Take it slowly, as if it was a spirituous drink, a sedative or a Pandora’s box asking to be reenchanted to keep up with the game.